Category Archives: Short observations

Crystal Castles – an 11th grade poem

Posted on by Carol

This poem was inspired by courtyard walls edging Bourbon Street in New Orleans. The walls were topped by cemented-in broken bottles.

CRYSTAL CASTLES
by Carol Fullerton-Samsel

The broken bottles on the wall
Serve as the courtyard’s capitol.
With jagged spires and splintered sides
The crystal palaces divide
The streets below, at which they stare,
From gardens growing lush and fair.
Throughout the day they glimmer white;
But sparkle amber in the night,
When with the moon’s first misty beams,
The sentries’ shining armor gleams.
With haughty stance, the soldiers guard
The budding jewels within their yard.
And from the treasures all are banned
By sentries bold and castles grand.

Describing a river — an 11th grade assignment

Posted on by Carol
bigstock-Brown-bear-on-Alaska-36470419

(c) 2012 Galyna Andrushko. Licensed through BigStockPhoto.com.

The river wormed its way through the mountains and across marshy meadows.  Though it was narrow, its steel-blue waters foamed and bubbled white as it bounded for the sea.  To fisherman and grizzly, it threw its cousin the salmon.  Across the tongues of thirsty deer, its icy fingers flowed.  Like a hurdler, it leaped those boundaries blocking its chosen path — a fallen log, a deserted beaver dam.  Nothing could stop it from surging and writhing, for the river knew that it had to keep running — sprinting toward Ocean’s soothing arms.

Description of Bourbon Street written for an 11th grade class assignment

Posted on by Carol
New Orleans, Bourbon Street at Night, skyline photography

(c) 2012 Bryan Mullennix. Licensed through BigStockPhoto.com.

When I was a teenager, I traveled with my family to New Orleans. Bourbon Street left a lasting impression, and appears in a number of early writings…

A carriage, drawn by a ridgedly-ribbed nag, clip-clopped along the black-topped pavement. Travelling amidst acidic exhaust fumes, it turned onto a route absent of cars, but infested with people. The tourists within the carriage peered out at the circus about them.

Elegant society-ladies, adorned in glittering gowns, strolled arm-in-arm with handsome beaus. Childlike prostitutes, dressed in tattered jeans and skirts, searched for clients.

A stale-breathed drunk stumbled over curbs and into walls.  An addict combined forces with a mugger — knuckles wrapped in worn handkerchiefs — to gain money for a fix.

Groups of shabbily-dressed teens danced in the street to  the jingling jazz tunes emerging from Pat O’ Brien’s, a respected establishment surrounded by nudie bars and nightclubs. The clubs were painted exotic colors and topped by secluded cat houses.  Shadowy human forms moved across dimly-lit windows.  At these centers of entertainment, anyone could see, for the price of a drink, as much bare flesh as he or she desired; and from these ill-reputed businesses charged electrifying music that clashed from one corner to the next.

At Bourbon and Dumaine, the one-float parade, having completed its worn path, halted in the darkness. The passengers climbed out and joined fleshy swarms sandwiched between towering, creole-style buildings; becoming but another act in the Bourbon Street sideshow.

A descriptive paragraph from 11th grade

Posted on by Carol

Another writing from childhood:

Midnight in Jessica Park

Click, clack.  Click, clack.  He strode efficiently down the crackless sidewalks.  Scrunch.  The toe of his black-leather shoe crushed a parched leaf.  Not a cricket chirped.  The only sounds surrounding him were those of the wind rustling crumpled brown foliage and the distant jingling license-tag of a stray dog.  The silence made him uncomfortable and his every thought seemed to pound against the walls of his skull.  The quick, nervous snapping of his heels striking cement; his own breath hissing tensely; the swooshing of his pantlegs against a London fog jacket; the thump of his own heartbeat; all echoed through the night.  The man halted and looked suspiciously about him.  He pulled the collar of his coat around his ears, hoping to hide his solitude and block his own sounds — a thousand times magnified.  A shiver traveled across his back.  The man turned sharply, eyes toward the path before him.  Clickety clack.  Clickety clack.

Ninth-grade poetry

Posted on by Carol

I was going through some old papers, and discovered poetry I’d written in 9th grade…

Time is
Eternally
Past, forever present.
An agent of regret; a spring
Of hope.

Hands
Restless, versatile.
Creating, then improving.
Staking a fresh claim.
History.

A single acorn
Drops from a death-gray oak, to
Greet life-giving earth.

Billowing gray clouds
Part; allowing bright sunstreaks
To change them to gold.

Fish and acorn; morning pond

Posted on by Carol

There was a nip in the air as I wrapped my blanket around me. The air was still; silent.

I gazed toward the pond. Its mirrored surface reflected fall color.

Pop! A large fish pierced the glass. Its scales flickered in the morning sun. It twisted and fell, the pond swallowing it whole.

A large ripple appeared. Spread and grew. Soon it splashed the pond’s marshy edge.

Minutes passed.

Stillness again.

A songbird appeared — a flitting silhouette. It dipped toward the pond’s center — dropped an acorn before flying on.

A smaller ripple formed.  Spread nonchalantly; pausing to breathe.

Meeting the marsh, it caressed and entwined each blade of grass.

Minutes passed.

Stillness again.

The fish was powerful; brazen. Bold and loud.

The acorn unheard; but its ripple had equal reach.

Bees, butterlies, and hummingbirds attracted to Mexican Sage

Posted on by Carol

I used to be terrified of bees, until we planted Mexican Sage (Salvia leucantha) along the walkway to our house. When it blooms, it is covered with honey bees, carpenter bees, and butterflies. Hummingbirds visit throughout the day.

The bees are so busy gathering pollen, that they rarely notice of anyone standing nearby. And even though my husband and I walk by them daily, we haven’t been stung since we planted the sage five years ago.

The bee visiting the flower (in the above photographs) is a female carpenter bee, which will sting but only if disturbed. The males have a white spot on their foreheads, and do not have stingers. They are the ones that “harass” people by flying at them. The more someone waves their arms or runs, the more the males “attack” because they’re attracted by movement.

Mexican sage loves direct sunlight, is heat and drought tolerant, and requires only small amounts of fertilizer. Next year, I may plant a row  in “the dead zone” of our yard, where little grows because the sun’s a little too intense and the soil’s a bit too dry.

Geothermal activity – Yellowstone’s Old Faithful area trails

Posted on by Carol
Bison prints can be found throughout the thermal areas.

This gallery contains 17 photos.

These photographs were taken on the trails adjoining the Old Faithful Inn in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming.

Glimpsing a buck in our back yard

Posted on by Carol

When we moved into our home, there was no fence around the property. We knew we wanted dogs, and that we wanted to keep coyotes out. So we put up a six-foot chain link fence. There was a well-worn deer path in the back of the property, which we preserved. My husband put out a mineral block. We see does and fawns frequently, but catching sight of a buck is rare.

Please excuse the hazy photography. This photo was taken on a cloudy day, through a plate glass window and using a zoom lens.

One cardinal chick survives a snake

Posted on by Carol

I was busy this morning — forgot that Monday’s my gym day. “Oh well,” I thought, “I’ll do something else that’s physical. I went to the shed and opened a bag of topsoil. I’d walk our half-acre, and fill “ankle breakers.” Ankle-breakers are a hazard of living in the country. Dogs and raccoons dig in … Continue reading →